On The Road With Bob

Thursday, 17 Apr 1997
Savannah GA--Charleston SC

Working down here on the Music Farm

Charleston, like Savannah, has an Old Confederacy, blueblood feel to it. Both cities offer a careful balance between the quaint and the cosmopolitan, and both exude artistic awareness. Charleston is, if anything, a bit more proper. And it's nearly completely surrounded by water, situated, as the locals like to point out, where the Ashley and Cooper rivers join to form the Atlantic Ocean.

I arrived very early at the Music Farm and parked the Camry right out front on Ann Street. When I went inside, I found Kevin, one of the owners, struggling to restore the club calendar, which the hard drive on his Mac refused to give back to him. Aha, I thought. I'm a career computer geek; I can help this guy and gain a few brownie points. Well, I've had just enough experience with Macs that I really ought to have known better. Fact is, I don't understand the first thing about these beasts; they don't make the least bit of sense to my Unix-indoctrinated brain. Kevin did, however, thank me for trying.

According to the sound man, the building now occupied by the Music Farm is the oldest surviving railway station in the US. True or not (why would he lie?), it's a striking piece of architecture. And the acoustics are surprisingly decent.

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